


Tombstones and Lipstick Kisses

by Val_Creative



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Princess Leia (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Family Feels, Historical References, Paris (City), Past Character Death, Romance, Sexual Content, Star Wars Femslash Battle, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8598439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Leia doesn't really do girly — and certainly not with ruffles.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valda/gifts).



> I decided to enter the " **[SW Femslash Challenge - Wildcard Round](http://femslashsw.tumblr.com/post/151771007312/information-femslash-in-star-wars-needs-more)** " which mean anything goes (within the choices of the pairings I was assigned)! The dates were 10/20 to 11/20 so I'm a little last minute but that's okay. I got partnered with [cosleia](http://cosleia.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, and found their AO3 and decided to gift their fic to them! If you ever get to read this, I hope you enjoyed the fic! :) 
> 
> Any thoughts/comments appreciated from everyone!

*

Leia doesn't really do _girly_ — and certainly not with ruffles.

Her brother insists with the weather being so nice and balmy that her newly purchased outfit will help her blend in. The trip has been expensive enough, visiting Parisian landmarks and keeping up with the tourist circuit.

It's not that she _hates_ the ivory colored, sheer blouse over her pale blue slip. Leia thinks a chelsea neckline is preferable over a low-cut. She admires the pearl beaded buttons, as a matter of fact. It may only be her disdain for the ruffled stomacher. Or the white paneled skirt with pink embroidered roses that goes down to her bare, recently shaved calves.

Skirts aren't her favorite article of clothing… exactly.

Luke combs her soft, dark brown hair in the morning, adding a pale blue bow. He gushes to Leia in the mirror, calling her a _dream_ and hugging his arms around her neck excitably, leaving a familial kiss to her cheek.

Having twin seems unreal, at times.

They had been separated as infants, reuniting through their biological father's closest friend. Their _Uncle Ben_ — as Luke deems him — had been on good terms with Leia's adoptive parents as well. Thinking about her parents put an ache in Leia's chest — they're _hers_ , even if she's only adopted.

Bail Organa, an activist and local politician in their hometown, came off a father figure and a mentor for Leia as much as he could during her childhood.

Teaching her how to ride her candy-green mountain bike, how tie her own shoelaces and make mistakes, how to stand up for what was _right_. He brought her along to town meetings, explaining the process of hearing every voice and every concern, explaining how a democracy is important.

Breha Queen-Organa spent long working hours at the hospital, and namely with children. Leia treasured every available hour she had with her mother, even if at times it felt limited. Thinking about a career path during her teenage years seemed nearly impossible — becoming a well-loved and fair Senator like her father, or being a doctor like Breha.

Her mother wasn't always gone.

She tucked in Leia on many early evenings, curling into Leia's bed and reading to her. Leia disliked the children's books — stuff about "fairy tales _"_ were just not logical. Breha instead shared her favorite writers and their books, and one of them had been dry humor of Oscar Wilde.

_"I am sick to death of cleverness. Everybody is clever nowadays. You can't go anywhere without meeting clever people. The thing has become an absolute public nuisance. I wish to goodness we had a few fools left."_

Leia giggled along, peeking over to her mother's round, pleasantly smiling expression.

One of Breha's hopes, written in her journal Leia often pored over in her late twenties, was to travel out to Oscar Wilde's tombstone, to see it for herself. Neither her mother or father, or Leia, got the opportunity.

Until now.

She ducks away from the bustling, noisy group, taking her opportunity as Luke engages pleasantly with their pompous tour guide and another handsome, dark-skinned man. Leia never cared much for the group anyway — even while they went around introducing themselves on the bus, shaking hands and offering up where they were from.

There's no security guards looming around. Leia hops the stone steps, crouching down and heading to the tombstone. It's slate-gray and covered in lipstick-smeared kisses, of an array of hues and sizes.

Leia pulls out her cellphone, pressing for the recording button as she faces it with a broad, cheerful grin.

" _Lo hicimos, Mamá_ ," she tells the camera in a hushed, proud whisper. Leia's breathing trembles for a moment. She rapidly blinks out the sudden, hot sting of tears behind her eyes. " _Lo hicimos... te echo de menos_."

As her thumb lets go of the recording button, someone half-crabwalks straight into her, nearly toppling them over. Leia rescues her smartphone from dropping, and scowls outright at the other woman.

"Jesus— _CHRIST!_ "

"Yell a little louder, will you?" comes out as a hiss. "I'm sure the police in Holland didn't hear you."

Leia recognizes her immediately — _Evaan_ , introduced along with everyone else, albeit more reluctantly. A very tall, strong-boned woman in skinny blue jeans and a knitted sweater underneath a faux-leather, dark jacket.

She's… _gorgeous_ and absolutely Leia's type, but that's _BESIDES_ the point!

"Maybe if you weren't skulking around…" Leia retorts, ignoring the eye-roll. She pats herself. "Fuck."

Oh, _fuck_.

"What?"

Leia's hands wave angrily, palms out.

"I lost my lipstick," she mutters, checking again. "Great."

Evaan rummages in her wallet, presenting out a miniature tube of blue-colored, matte lipstick.

"Borrow mine?" After a drawn out moment of them staring at each other — one of them in silent, frustrated disbelief and the other quickly losing her patience — Leia grabs it out of Evaan's fingers, huffing.

A harsh, nasally snort.

"You're welcome, your Highness," Evaan tells her with the full intent of sarcasm, nodding her head.

_"What?"_

"Nothing. You just look like a princess, with all of the…" The other woman looks her up and down pointedly, now smiling close-lipped, from Leia's ballet flats caked with dirty clumps of grass to the pale blue bow holding her hair back.

Leia's cheeks darken.

"And you sound ridiculous," she says, avoiding Evaan's gaze and puckering her mouth, applying a thick layer of the lipstick. There's sparkles in the midnight-blue color and smells _cheap_ , but it'll do the trick.

Leia bends forward, pressing her lips briefly to the cold, rough surface.

"Says the woman kissing the tombstone of a dead poet."

"It's… _tradition_ ," she says primly, handing Evaan her lipstick. "And you're not here to do the same?"

The other woman raises an eyebrow, no longer grinning.

"That color looks terrible on you," Evaan's voice comes out deadpan.

Leia wrinkles her nose, wiping off her mouth with a bare wrist. "You're just a _joy_ at parties, aren't you…"

"At least I'm not ice cold."

"You don't know _anything_ about me…"

Evaan doesn't argue, eyeing her contemplatively. Leia's anger fades off a little.

"Back when I was seven, I got diagnosed with leukemia," she explains. Evaan's fingers smooth over her oversized, white scarf. "No one thought I was gonna make it to remission in the late stages… but my doctor was the only one who believed it was gonna happen." Leia watches her, narrowing her eyes at the flatness in the other woman's tone. "I remember her telling me about having bedtime stories with her kid, and she would read to me too while I was recovering from surgery. She said one of her favorite writers had been Oscar Wilde."

Leia's stomach twists. "Which hospital were you at?"

"I had lived in Alderaan for most of my life, so the town's hospital… my doctor's name was Organa."

It feels like something _hard_ just slammed into her chest, knocking the air out of her.

"You knew my mother…?" Leia asks, eyes widening.

" _Your_ mother?"

She nods, and Evaan's eyes go as wide as hers.

"Holy shit— _sorry_ —it's just your mom is basically the person who saved my life." Evaan's hand presents out, and Leia takes it numbly, feeling Evaan shake it vigorously. "Thank you."

"For what?" A twinge of embarrassment flushes up Leia noticeably. "I didn't save your life."

"Shaking the hand of the daughter of who did is _more_ than I could have ever hoped for," Evaan says, lips quirking into a smile. She then releases Leia's hand, appearing somber. "I wanted to be there for the funeral, but…"

Leia's throat clenches up.

God, she can't…

"Yeah, me too," Leia murmurs, body stiffening up as the memories crash over her. Her mother complained about severe nausea and went to take a nap during the afternoon. She never woke up again. Bail Organa and nineteen-year-old Leia discovered Breha having burrowed herself in the decorative, floral sheets, her features paled and her skin like ice.

They tried to tell Leia that her mother went peacefully in her sleep… unaware of any pain, any suffering…

But _they_ suffered, and the living grieved for days, weeks, and even now Leia _hates_ it.

And that's…

" _The truth is rarely pure and never simple_ — right?"

Leia glances up quickly, meeting their eyes as Evaan finishes her sentence.

"A direct quote," she replies, mildly impressed. "So you're not here just for the illegal thrills?"

Another snort.

"You're telling me you're not feeling it?" Evaan asks, her smile opening to much more friendly. "The _rush_ … that any second from now, someone could _c_ ome by…" There's flecks of sunlight in the bright blonde of Evaan's hair plaited together, Leia watches in slow-creeping approval as the other woman moves closer, despite their awkward squatting behind the historical monument, nudging their kneecaps. "And… catch you like this…"

Her pulse thuds a bit faster. Leia's teeth flash out, biting on her lower, faintly blue-smeared lip.

" _And_ catch you hitting on me," she whispers, echoing the mischief in Evaan's smile.

But Leia guesses that's not _so_ bad, when her hand rests on Evaan's muscular thigh, their lips gravitating and pressed together, separating when she licks Evaan's bottom, chapped lip. There's fingers digging into Leia's hair, and _oh_ — okay, Leia never tried hair-pulling but _that_ felt amazing, her scalp tinging sharp-aching.

It's not until the blackened shadow looming overhead when Leia jerks away. She glances up at the infuriated, beet-red tour guide with his arms crossed rigidly — and Luke standing behind him, grimacing sympathetically.

 _Oh_ … okay.

*

No charges are brought up, thankfully — but Leia (as well as Evaan) are forced to leave the group. Luke promises her dinner when the entire tour gets back, in a couple hours he estimates. She doesn't blame him for sticking with it.

Turns out, they're all staying on the _same_ hotel floor.

And the blue lipstick _is_ terrible, rubbed against Evaan's heated, grinning mouth, staining their fingertips when she straddles Leia's naked form, their legs shifting and tangling, kissing her from collarbone to navel. Slickening her breasts and inner thighs, sucking reddened marks and coloring them that _ridiculous_ …

It's enough for tombstones — but Leia feels like a _temple_ instead, opening to Evaan's worship.

*

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Oscar Wilde's grave/tombstone is a legitimate thing people get away with.](https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2011/nov/27/oscar-wilde-grave-paris-cemetery)


End file.
